Memoirs of a Chalet Girl

I’ve decided to do something totally different in this post after watching the new film Chalet Girl.

Doing a season is something I’ve wanted to do since the very first time I went skiing about 6 years ago, so when I finished my A-levels I had already planned and saved to go to Courchevel and work in a hotel.

The gorgeous French Alps

So when everyone went to start their first year at uni. I hopped on a plane with a load of people I didn’t know, some who had done this before, others who were new to it. I was sitting on the plane, next to a girl who was absolutely smashed “been drinking in the airport for the last twelve hours” she told me. Christ, here we go.

There was another girl as well who was beside herself, distraught and hiccupping for breath as the plane took off. As overdramatic as I thought this was, this girl turned out to be one of my best friends on my season, and a fellow chalet girl.

So, my season. Yes it is as messy as everyone hears it is, yes you do have to work some savage hours (starting at 4am once a week), no not everyone sleeps around as much as people assume you do, but yes, there are the select few who do.

I came across everything on my season, from people having threesomes, walking in on people getting it on, people getting naked and crowd surfing, people skiing naked, people skiing down mountains drunk, in the dark (I’m sorry but I have to put my hands up to this one). A lot of this took place in the seasonal Valley Rally, which meant a lot of drinking, a lot of nakedness and a lot of gruesome tasks within a time limit.

The most lethal drink that ever touched our lips, which wasn’t a consumable version of petrol, was Mutzig.  ‘Mutzig- Forget Everything’ was the slogan, and what a poster advert the seasonaires were for it.


There were nights such as Power Hour, where four-pint jugs of mutzig were only 8euros for two, that’s right two. If you could still stand by the end of your second jug then you were probably pouring your beer away in the toilet. It was lethal, but it was how every seasonaire let their hair down, the night before their day off.

Of course, every Power hour night meant serious repercussions. If you were silly/ drunk enough to shit on your own doorstep then you had to face the consequences, usually at 6am the next morning, still slightly drunk.

It was also these nights where those who came out with partners at home, became unfaithful. In all honesty, not one person who had a partner back home remained faithful; that is the vicious truth.

However there were the select few who couldn’t resist the romance of the Alps, and settled down into relationships, most of which are still together now, even back in ‘the real world’. This is where I blush and admit to being one of those people…

I met some of the most amazing people on my season, made some unlikely friends and awesome memories. It was one of the most upsetting moments in my life having to say goodbye the people who had become my best friends, and family. Everyone was going on to something different, summer seasons, university or some were putting their wild sides behind them to get a “real” job.

Getting home was incredibly exciting at first, but within a week of catching up with everyone who I’d missed for months I was ready to jump back on a plane to France.

I had so many stories to tell, people I wish everyone back home new about, yet they didn’t and they struggled to relate. However it means whenever I meet up with people from my season, and a year on I still see them, we can spend many nostalgic hours reminiscing over the ravaged antics of our season and the best moments of our lives.

We spent five months, skiing, drinking, laughing, working and never having to hear the sound of a police car or ambulance, we were almost shut off from reality with our lack of internet and television.

Yet being able to go for walks through the snow-capped trees, eat at some of the most gorgeous restaurants dotted around the mountains, go sledging through the trees or paraglide of the mountain in the sunshine, made my season perfect.

I didn’t care for the amount of weight I put on, or the lack of sleep I had. I quickly got over changing soiled sheets and cleaning toilets with a toothbrush. It was only a small price to pay for the best months of my life. If I could, I would drop everything in a second and do it all over again. Even for only £70 a week. Easy.

Any offers?

For other brilliant articles on chalet girls see:

Chalet girl: the life of a seasonaire

Chalet girl: the real story


About KG

Mumblings of a final year student looking to get fit, eat well, study hard and still enjoy the finer things in life. View all posts by KG

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